


Drinking Through the Night(Mares)

by Malfoysdarkness



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Charles You Will Be Drunk, Erik has Issues, Erik is a Sweetheart, Fluff and Angst, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Charles, I'm sorry Charles baby, M/M, Not exactly happy, Touch-Starved Charles, a lot of sadness, but I feel so sad for you, but mainly angst, but you know what i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malfoysdarkness/pseuds/Malfoysdarkness
Summary: Charles drinks. A lot.When he finds Erik again, he does everything he can to make the man stay. Including, roping his friends into helping him string a lie into place, which gets bigger and bigger, the less Erik believes it.But maybe Erik will stay without the huge facade?Charles doesn't believe that.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71





	1. Charles

Charles drank. A lot. 

He had a good reason for it. Erik had gone, taking Raven with him. Alex had been drafted into the Vietnam War and Banshee had gone missing, leaving only Hank for company. Hank, who was dealing with his own problems. 

They avoided each other mostly, Charles at one end of the house, Hank on the other. The place fell into disarray, and neither man did anything to stop it. When they did see each other, Charles begged Hank for a cure. He couldn't be a leader stuck in a stupid wheelchair. Hank _did_ find a cure, but at a cost. Charles used it every day, more than the needed dose if necessary. Hank advised against it, but Charles didn't listen. He needed to walk, he _needed_ to keep the voices out. 

As the months turned into years, Charles let his hair grow long, barely looking in the mirror anymore. His arm grew numb from the endless stabbing needles, but he didn't stop. _Couldn't_ stop. Instead, he pressed on, injecting more and more, until one morning he collapsed on the floor of his bedroom. Hank heard the crash and came running, but he almost couldn't save him. When Charles came round, his eyes were bloodshot, lips bitten red. He didn't thank his friend, didn't ask for more drugs. He just laid there, gazing up at the ceiling. Hank knew he was broken. 

Then came the day in which Logan appeared at the house. Charles hated visitors, and Hank knew it. He answered the door, defended when the other mutant attacked. Charles heard the commotion and finished pouring his drink before stepping downstairs. 

"Get off the bloody chandelier, Hank," he began, eyes landing on the stranger. Charles had no idea of the craziness would follow. Logan was from the future? 

Busting Erik out of the Pentagon should have been impossible, but with Peter's powers, it became a walk in the park. That was, until, Charles set eyes on the man again. Erik Lehnsherr, _Magneto_ , the person who Charles had once loved. Still loved… 

_Thwack!_

Charles' fist connected with Erik's jaw, sending him reeling backwards onto the floor. Shaking his hand to soothe some of the pain, Charles watched with gritted teeth as his nemesis returned to his feet. 

"It's good to see you too, old friend. And walking," Erik pointed out, rubbing his jaw. He smiled and Charles wanted to punch him again. How could he love such an insolent, obnoxious man? A man who disabled him, took away his only family, and destroyed his heart? Charles did not know the answer. He couldn't help but love Erik, even then. 

Even when Erik was pulling up the ground for a stupid Egyptian God, Charles still loved him. Erik had suffered so much, and Charles actually felt sympathy. He didn't have the heart to tell his old friend all he had gone through. All his pain, his loss, his anger. Erik had enough of that already. He didn't need to be burdened by Charles' own grief. 

Charles drank when Erik prepared to leave the newly built mansion, dressed in his slacks. If Erik had noticed he'd never seen Charles without a drink in his hand, he didn't mention it. He simply shook his friend's hand and left the house, not realising how much he was destroying Charles once again. 

The nightmares resumed that night. In his new bed, cold sheets swirled around his waist, Charles thrashed, crying out as an imaginary needle pierced his skin, braces holding his arms in place. When he awoke, he realised they were not his own dreams. Erik's thoughts haunted his own, enough to wake him up at night. Charles shivered, wrapping an extra blanket around his shoulders and curling up again, hoping to fall back into a simpler sleep. Every night after that, Charles fell a victim to Erik's nightmares. He eventually took a midnight trip down to Cerebro, attempting to find Erik, to explain, to ask why he was receiving the bad memories. There was no answer. Erik wasn't visible on Cerebro. 

"That fucking helmet," Charles muttered to himself. He resolved to hunt Erik down by himself instead, supposing that it would be easier than waiting until Erik took his helmet off, to search his mind. Knowing Erik, he probably slept with it on. Charles got one leg in the car, before he was caught. Peter was too quick for his own good. 

"Where are you going this time of night, Prof?" 

Charles closed his eyes as he switched off the car engine, the headlights flickering before dying out. Charles' nightshirt ruffled slightly and Peter sat beside him in the passenger seat, bare feet propped up on the dashboard. Charles ignored him and pulled his other leg into the car, before relaxing into the seat. 

"I decided it would be more comfortable to sleep in this car," he replied dryly. Peter obviously didn't believe him. 

"You're going to find my dad, aren't you?" 

Charles pressed his lips together. The thought of Erik having a…a _son_ , made Charles' stomach feel weird. Was he jealous? No! Of course not. He didn't care that Erik had been with women, several, in fact, when Charles had been alone, with only Hank for company. 

"Does that bother you?" Charles asked carefully, glancing at the silver-haired speedster. Peter gave him a grin. 

"Not at all. Just let me drive, Prof. I'm a much better driver." 

Charles sent a quick prayer to the heavens, as he adjusted into the passenger seat. 

"I hope that doesn't just mean fast," he replied. He certainly regretted saying that. 


	2. Peter

As Peter drove, Charles let his mind wander. It was always risky, but he knew he'd need to think about Erik if he wanted to find him. In his thoughts, Erik was blurred, out of focus. Charles closed his eyes to concentrate more on his memories of the man, fingers moving to his temple. It had become a habit, after realising it strengthened his telepathy. He didn't need it now, but it was a slight comfort to himself. 

He could hear echoed words, each one said by Erik.  _ Charles… Shaw… Raven…  _ each word made Charles' mind waver. He never searched through his own memories too often, finding them too painful to relive. It was soothing, however. Like dipping his fingers into cool water. He had always wondered whether it felt like that to others, when he read  _ their  _ minds. 

" _ If you let them have me, I'm as good as dead. You know that."  _

Charles opened his eyes. The voice was so clear, it felt as if Erik was in the car with them. He must have jumped in his seat, as Peter glanced across at him. 

"What's wrong, Prof? You look like you've seen a ghost." 

Charles shook his head, his breathing slowly going back to normal. His hands trembled slightly but he ignored it. What kind of man was he? A pathetic one, clearly, who shook at the mere voice of his nemesis. No, it nemesis. Erik wasn't his enemy. He never had been, even when he had trapped Charles under a stadium, hit him with a bullet and left him three times. Charles forgave him. Not for leaving him, though. All the physical pain in the world wouldn't compare to watching Erik leave three separate times in three decades. 

"Not a ghost," Charles said, letting out a soft chuckle. It came out sounding more like a sob. "Just a memory." 

"Of Magneto?" Peter asked, overtaking a car dwardling in the inside lane. Charles' eye twitched but he didn't say anything about it. Peter wasn't doing anything illegal. 

"Erik. His name is Erik," Charles replied, almost sounding snappy. He couldn't help it. Magneto was a stupid name Raven had come up with, but the man had stuck with it. Charles had no idea why. Perhaps he could think of no better name? 

Peter whistled but didn't answer. Instead, he tightened his hands on the steering wheel, eyes on the road. He couldn't keep quiet for much longer, however. "If you can't find him in your weird mind machine, how do you expect to find him out here?" 

Charles pressed his lips together. "I'm attempting to piece together an idea of where Erik's lair would be." 

Peter blinked. "Lair? Why would he have a lair?" 

Charles scoffed. "He's Erik Lehnsherr. Of course he has a lair. Most likely somewhere dramatic and extreme, like inside a volcano or under a waterfall." 

"Or…in some random hotel in New York?" Peter continued, voice strangely quiet. He pointed to a passing hotel, named The Clock and Bull. The part that had caught Peter's eye, was the sign above the door was shaking slightly, as if by some invisible force. As they neared the building, Charles' watch, along with the entire car, began to tremble. Charles went pale. 

"He's here." 

After finding a parking spot and pulling Charles' wheelchair from the boot, they walked into the hotel. Inside, the magnetic currents felt stronger, but no one around seemed to notice apart from them. Peter whizzed round the entire hotel, but there was no sign of Erik. 

Charles began to give up hope once again, starting to believe that perhaps it had only been a small earthquake causing the sign to shake, until a soft voice spoke from behind him. 

"Hello, Charles." 


	3. Erik

Charles' blood ran cold. Despite his assurances that he was prepared to see his old friend again, he really wasn't. Just the sound of his voice sent Charles back with a tidal-wave of memories he'd rather forget. Cuba, DC, Cairo. They all came back, fresh as if they were yesterday. Charles closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind. Erik would be able to tell if Charles was unsettled. Despite mind-reading not being his power, Erik always seemed to know what Charles was thinking. 

"Hello, old friend," Charles managed to say, voice surprisingly calm. He turned his wheelchair and was hit once again with his own thoughts. Erik was there. He wore a slim-fitting black suit and appeared to blend into the smart hotel like just another businessman. It was surprising to Charles how Erik had changed every time they met.

Erik gave him a smile. A soft, real smile. One that Charles hadn't received in a long, long time. Perhaps ever. It made his insides churn and his fingers clench.  _ How could Erik smile so clearly, after all the destruction he had caused. _ Charles' mind flickered between wanting to hug Erik, and wanting to hit him. How could he leave, after all they went through? 

But that was all he did. Leave. He left every time, unable to stay to bear Charles' burden. Especially now. Bald, wheelchair-bound. No wonder Erik left. Pushing back his own problems, Charles smiled back at Erik, though his fingernails bit painfully into his palms. 

"Where have you been, since you left?" Charles couldn't help but ask. He shifted in his chair, wishing he could take back the question, as Erik's face twisted into something like… _ dispair.  _

"I needed to tell Magda's mother…" Erik couldn't finish, and Charles didn't want him to. He could see the pain on Erik's face, his surface thoughts brimming with hurt. Charles wished he could turn back time, but unfortunately, that wasn't his power. 

This time, Erik stopped the silence. He brushed his thumb beneath his eyes and cleared his throat. The sound made Peter zip back to Charles' side. They stared at each other for a moment, Erik's mouth slightly open in surprise. 

"You're Peter, right?" 

The speedster nodded. Charles could see his foot tapping, fingers twitching at his sides. Peter could never keep still, especially now. Now he was face to face with his father again. 

"It was brave of you to face up against En Sabah Nur," Erik continued. Peter's face lit up, but before he could answer, Erik's gaze turned back to Charles. The telepath's own eyes hadn't left Erik's face, so when their gazes met, Charles flushed, caught staring. A small, amused smile twitched on Erik's lips. 

"Did you need me, Charles? You must do, if you went to all this trouble to find me." 

Charles cleared his throat, ready to answer. He then paused. There was no  _ need _ to find Erik, it was a  _ want _ . Charles wasn't sure Erik would accept a simple 'I missed you', so he blurted out something else. Something worse. 

"I need help." 

He regretted it the moment it fell from his lips. Erik's eyes widened. He took a rapid step forward, his briefcase falling from his grasp as he knelt down in front of Charles. 

"What kind of help, Charles? What's wrong? Do you need me? Is the school in trouble?" 

The questions overwhelmed Charles and he moved his wheelchair back slightly, struggling to find a plausible excuse. Thankfully, he wasn't alone. 

"We're missing a few teachers," Peter shot in quickly, making Erik look his way. "We need help finding some more. We thought you'd know some people. Some mutants." 

Charles let out his breath, which was - to his embarrassment - a little shaky, and gave Peter a tiny nod to keep going. Erik considered it, slowly straightening up. Charles instantly missed the closeness, but didn't mention it. Why would he? That would be weird. 

"You need mutants?" 

Peter nodded, but Charles spoke before he could. "Preferably ones more experienced and adept in controlling their powers." 

"I'm not sure about controlling powers, but I do know a few," Erik picked up his case. Fearing he was about to leave again, Charles wheeled forward. 

"It would be easier to go through it, back at the house." 

Peter nodded his agreement and Erik looked at the both of them carefully. Charles momentarily believed he'd seen through their plan, before he nodded. 

"I'll come back to the house. It may take a while to explain each mutant, anyway, and we might as well do it somewhere comfortable." 

As he stepped away to talk with the hotel receptionist, Charles tugged on Peter's sleeve. "He'll figure out we're not short of staff soon enough. What do we do then?" he whispered. 

Peter shrugged, but his eyes were flickering. "Just hope he stays." 


	4. Gambit

The drive back to the mansion was awkward, to say the least. Peter was driving again, and in some crazy idea, had suggested Erik and Charles sit in the back seat together. Erik had smiled, but Charles was less pleased. Sit beside the man he was pining so hard after? The man he had fought with for decades, ending in tragedy every time. He couldn't. 

Why did Charles have such a small car? For all his money, he could have afforded a bigger one. He and Erik were less than a foot apart, and Erik's hand rested on the middle seat, eyes forward. Of course Erik would ignore him. Well, Charles would ignore him too. They drove in silence for a while, the only sound the engine, and Peter's humming. He had his headphones on. Charles was jealous. If only he could zone out of the unbearable silence.

When Erik spoke, his voice was low and soft. Charles hadn't heard it that gentle before. 

"So what teachers do you currently have?" 

Caught out, Charles cleared his throat as an excuse to quickly run through his own mind. How could he do this? How could he lie to Erik? Charles was useless at lying, though he  _ had  _ started it in the first place. Charles knew it was his own fault. 

"Hank, of course. He's the English and Science teacher. Um…then there's Remy LeBeau, also known as Gambit-"

Erik stopped him there. 

"Gambit works for you?" 

Charles blinked. He wasn't sure how Erik knew the other mutant, but he supposed Erik had connections around the world. "Yes," he said, keeping his eyes watching the back of Peter's headrest. "He teaches the children, with explosive powers, how to control them." 

Erik sat back in the seat, breathing out a small chuckle. Charles couldn't help it. He glanced over. Erik's eyes were illuminated by each passing streetlamp, giving them an eerie glow each time. 

"Well, I never thought Gambit would be a teacher, but each to their own." 

Charles felt the need to defend his school. "Being a teacher for other mutants is an honourable job. Yes, I have teachers to show them maths and geography and such, but I need more teachers, more helpers to support the children with their powers." 

Erik looked at him. "Is that what you want me to do? Show your children how they can use their gifts to create, as well as destroy?" 

Charles let his breath out slowly. "Yes. In a way," he shifted, realising after a moment that the slight tremor in his fingers were because he hadn't had a drink that night. He clenched them tight and ignored the growing ache in his chest, which felt more like heartbreak than anything else. "You're a good teacher, Erik. You could explain to them how to help make the most out of their powers." 

"Yeah, your own powers are pretty cool, anyway," Peter piped up from the front, glancing at them in the rear view mirror. Glad for the backup, Charles nodded his agreement. Erik considered. 

"But - they are all afraid of me. I destroyed Cairo. I destroyed their home. Your home." 

"But you also rebuilt it," Charles figured a smile wouldn't hurt. He gave Erik one, and felt a great swell in his chest when Erik returned it. "You came back and helped Jean rebuild the mansion. You were good, Erik.  _ Are _ good." 

Erik looked back down at his lap. It took him a while to agree - almost so long that Charles' mind had forgotten the conversation - but when they pulled into the driveway of the mansion, Erik replied. "Alright. I'll help you find mutants, and in the meantime, teach your children." 

Charles smiled again, this time a real one. He reached across and gave Erik's hand a squeeze. "Thank you, my friend."


	5. Ink

"What about Bishop?" 

"No, he's too young." 

Erik sighed, leaning back on the sofa. "He is the tenth one I've offered, and the tenth one you've denied. Why?" 

Charles squeezed his fingers around the glass in his hand, which was currently no whiskey, just ice. He'd drunk the alcohol before the ice even had time to hit the bottom of the glass. Erik had seemed surprised at the ease he drank the alcohol, but didn't mention it. Erik probably did the same. 

"I just - don't feel like any of them are right for this job," Charles said carefully. This lie was stringing out for longer than he expected it to. The instant they'd arrived back at the school, Erik had wanted to set to work. Charles, already exhausted, agreed anyway with a strong drink in his hand. And there they were, three hours later. Charles knew his eyes were losing focus on the files in front of them, but couldn't bring himself to snap out of his daze. 

Peter had left them a long while ago, with the excuse to sleep for a test, which Charles knew was bullshit. Charles didn't believe in tests or exams, and his school was purely learning, no need to prove it with exams. 

"What about Cable? I think he'd be a pretty solid teacher. Or Warpath. He'd be fascinating." 

Charles closed his eyes, rubbing a growing ache between his eyes. Erik didn't appear tired, or to be slowing down at any rate. Charles just wanted to collapse. 

"Alright!" he blurted out, a few moments later. "Let's go for Ink. He sounds…interesting."

He did, but Charles mainly said it to get Erik to possibly stop talking. Charles knew he was going to have a hangover in the morning, and if Erik didn't call it a night, he would have to have another drink, which would worsen the morning feeling. Charles hated hangovers, and loved alcohol, so it was dangerous how much he wanted to have. 

Erik narrowed his eyes as he watched Charles, trying to detect some form of falsehood from him. Charles put on a surprisingly good innocent face, and Erik relaxed. "Alright then. Ink it is." 

Charles breathed out slowly as Erik began to pack his files back into his briefcase, but his breath hitched at Erik's next words. 

"I'll give him a call, so he'll probably be over by next week." 

Erik was putting on his coat. Taking his hat from the arm of the sofa. Closing his briefcase. No. No, this couldn't be happening. He was leaving again. He never even thought about staying longer, simply to talk to Charles. Did Charles really mess up that badly? 

Needing another drink, Charles reached across for the whiskey bottle, but Erik took it first. 

"You need to rest, my friend. Don't worry, I'll be back in the morning to settle the arrangements," Erik gave Charles a smile which could melt his insides. Charles already felt melted, however. Melted with relief. Erik wasn't leaving him again. Just going for the night. Right. Charles could handle that. 

No, he couldn't. All Charles wanted to do was to cling onto Erik's jacket, tug him close and beg him not to leave. Beg him to stay, sleep in the school, live there. Stay with Charles, stop him drinking. But he didn't. Charles was sober enough to shake Erik's hand, almost surprised he didn't recoil at Charles' touch, which must have been clammy and disgusting. Charles was sober enough to follow Erik to the door, show him out into the rain which was starting to pour quite heavily. Sober enough to wave him goodbye, smiling from the door until Erik disappeared from sight. 

No. He wasn't sober. Not anymore. The instant Erik was gone, Charles took every bottle he could find in his office, drinking the lot. The mixture of flavours and strengths made him already feel sick, but he ignored the feeling and laid back in bed, ready for the nightmares which he knew would keep him awake even further. 

What a terrible, half life Charles lived. He was lying to Erik, lying to Raven, lying to Hank, even lying to Jean, Peter, and their friends. Telling them he was fine, helping them when they needed it, being a shoulder to cry on when they were sad. No one asked if he,  _ Charles _ , was okay. It was bullshit. They all expected him to be fine. 

His mind was shattered after what Apocalypse did, broken into tiny pieces. It had taken weeks, months to fix it, and Charles sometimes woke up in a cold sweat, from falling down one of the gaps in his mind. It was terrifying, like missing a step while walking down the stairs. Charles' whole life flashed before his eyes, like he was reliving it over and over. After nightmares like those, Charles usually drank. Usually. Mostly. Always. 

He couldn't help it, especially now. Erik was back, but Charles didn't know for how long. He wasn't back for Charles, or even Peter. He was back for his own gain, or so he thought. He expected to be compensated, of course he did. For 'helping' Charles find a new teacher. Charles didn't have the heart, or the stomach to tell him the truth. The lie had gone on for hours now, too late to call it off as a joke. Charles had swam out too far, and now the current was carrying him away from the shore, to where the hungry sharks were waiting. 


	6. Alcohol

Charles couldn't bear it any longer. 

When Erik returned the next morning, Charles had his answer ready and waiting. He felt the slight buzz of Erik's mind as he got out of his car, heard his footsteps crunching the gravel path and the doorbell ringing. Charles couldn't do this, could he? 

Peter beat him to the door, opening it wide to let his father through. Erik thanked him before turning his head, a little surprised to not see Charles. Peter gave the man an awkward smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"I'll go find him." 

Less than a moment after he'd vanished, Peter returned, hair all over the place. "He's in his office. He doesn't look good." 

For the first time, Erik realised Peter was concerned. Worried for Charles. Feeling a spark of fear running down his leg, Erik strode forward, towards Charles' office. He knew it, he'd always known it. That had been where he and Charles had spent many nights playing chess. Yes, chess. That was all. 

When Erik opened the door, he almost tripped over an empty whiskey bottle on the floor. He watched it roll under the couch, then realised there was more than one. At least five bottles littered the floor, all empty. The room hadn't looked like this the night before. What on earth had Charles done? 

Hearing a groan, Erik turned his head towards the sound, over to the bed. Charles was awake. Well, conscious. Awake wasn't exactly the right word. His eyes were closed but his thumb rubbed his temples in a way which told Erik he had a thumping hangover. Setting down his briefcase on the table, Erik walked over, only now seeing how small Charles looked in the bed. Not because of his legs, no, because of his face. He looked - broken. 

"Good god, Charles, what did you do after I left?" Erik murmured, walking across and touching Charles' forehead, to make sure he wasn't ill. No, just hungover. Erik wasn't surprised. If Charles had really downed all that booze in a single sitting, Erik was amazed he was able to wake up at all. 

"Needed a pick-me-up," Charles mumbled, his sharp accent slurring, causing him to sound more drunk than Erik had ever heard him. Ignoring his reply, which Erik deemed unfit for his question, he collected the bottles and set them on the table. When Charles opened his eyes, a cup of water was held out in front of him. Taking a few sips, Charles let his eyes close again. He couldn't face Erik, not now.

"You needed a rest, Charles. That is what I said. Rest. Not alcohol," Erik pressed his lips together in frustration, but he didn't let himself get angry. He had no reason for it. Charles was damaged just like him, and Erik had never given it a second thought. Never tried to help. God, Erik felt like such an asshole. 

"Needed it," Charles admitted, his voice cracking. Erik closed his eyes for a moment. He really never noticed. Never acted like he cared. Of course. When had he not seen Charles with a drink in his hand? Erik couldn't remember. He was always drinking. 

"My friend, if you're drinking through the nightmares, I understand. But there are other ways to make the pain go away," Erik soothed, helping his old friend sit up. Charles' head spun and he blinked slowly, trying to focus on Erik's face. Erik. Erik. His Erik. No, not his Erik. Never his Erik. Never his Erik again. Erik. Erik. Erik. 

"You abandoned me," Charles whispered, lifting his gaze to meet Erik's. The man stared, caught out by Charles' words. He shifted back slightly as Charles continued, letting his pain and anger pour out in floods. He couldn't stop it now. 

"You abandon me! Every single time, you abandon me! Cuba, DC, Cairo. Every fucking time, you leave me! You never even think for a second what that does to me. Every time you hurt me. You know when you pushed the coin through Shaw's head? I was in his mind, I felt the whole thing. It keeps me awake at night. After what Apocalypse did? I have to push myself so hard to get through each passing day. It is agony waking up every morning, having to put on clothes and pretend to be someone I'm not!"

Erik simply stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide. Charles was breathless as he finished. He wiped his mouth and looked down at his lap, his hands shaking. They never seemed to stop shaking nowadays. "But you always leave," Charles continued quietly. "You never even stop to think of the consequences. You never stop and think that maybe my heart breaks every time I have to watch you walk away, over and over." 

His voice cracked and Erik shut his eyes tight. Was this really what he had done to Charles? His beautiful, cheeky, shining star of a lover, a friend, a companion. Erik didn't know what to say. They sat in silence for a while. Charles, clearly burnt out from his words, leant back against the headboard, watching the slight tremor in his fingers. 

"I had no idea…" Erik murmured quietly. Charles nodded, not daring to look at him. "I'm so sorry, Charles. I never thought-" he stopped himself, but Charles finished his sentence. 

"You never thought I cared about you enough." 

Erik nodded. Charles met his eyes, his own red and sore from the alcohol and emotions. 

"I care about you more than life itself, Erik Lehnsherr." 

Erik gave a sad smile, knowing how much the world had destroyed them both. He reached across and gently touched Charles' hand. 

"I won't leave anymore, Charles. I'll stay here, with you. I need you, and you need me. Hey, it's only taken us twenty years to figure that out," he chuckled softly. Charles managed a smile and gently squeezed Erik's fingers. 

"That sounds pretty good to me." 

-

"Oh, and Erik?" 

"Hm?" 

"I don't need any more teachers for the school. I just wanted you back." 

"I gathered that, my dear. I'm here to stay." 

_ Fin.  _


End file.
